


Carve your name in my stony heart, Ink your sigil on my skin

by injerannie94



Series: And the Worm is dead.... [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarven Culture, F/M, Fate, M/M, Soulmates, family fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injerannie94/pseuds/injerannie94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meron ran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carve your name in my stony heart, Ink your sigil on my skin

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the age that passed since i last updated this story!

 

 

Meron ran, celebration tingling in her every nerve. Oh, the freedom! No more loathsome betrothal looming over her head, no more snoring Borek to put up with in her bed, no more fears about how to cope with married life, she was _free!_ She laughed as she ran, practically dancing down the streets.

 

She didn’t notice where her feet were taking her until she was hurtling into the palace and had smashed headlong into Thorin Oakenshield in the midst of a discussion with Dwalin. They both turned irked eyes on her as she righted herself.

 

“I’m so sorry, please, my apologies,” she gasped, short of breath. “Have – does anyone know where Kíli is?”

 

“He left,” Thorin replied shortly.

 

“Left?” Meron repeated, heart dropping to her toes.

 

“Yes. He and Fíli had some business to attend to in Laketown.”

 

Laketown! At least that wasn’t far. “So he’ll be back soon?”

 

“That I doubt. They have some difficult dealings to discuss with the Master of Laketown, particularly regarding the incident with the slave traders,” Thorin replied ominously.

 

It was only then that Meron noticed the sniffling bundle in Thorin’s arms. The little girl raised her face from the king’s chest to look at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glistening.

 

“Da’s gone,” she hiccupped. “Again.”

 

“I know,” Meron whispered. “I’m sorry, _ghivashel_.”

 

Míyah’s eyes filled with tears. Wordlessly, she held out her arms. Meron, a little surprised, complied. The dwarfling sighed contentedly and automatically wound a strand of Meron’s hair around her fist.

 

“Do you, uh – do you know Kíli well?” Thorin asked, clearly flabbergasted at Míyah’s behaviour.

 

“Yes.” Meron decided the simple answer was best.

 

“We were going to take her to her aunt’s –“

 

“I’ll do it,” Meron replied at once.

 

Dwalin let out a low growl. “You send them out too much, Thorin. These areas are safe for the most part. There is no need to send out patrols daily, or at least our princes need not go with them.”

 

“It is important they are recognised by their merit, not only their family name,” Thorin replied tartly. “Besides, have you thought what would happen if Kili wasn’t given leave to leave the mountain regularly?”

 

Dwalin, evidently having not thought of this, grunted in agreement. Thorin turned to Meron.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind taking the child to Aliyah’s chambers. Dwalin and I have further things to discuss.”

 

“Dwalin,” Meron asked, a thought having suddenly struck her. “I need to talk to you.”

 

“Is it important?”

 

“Quite,” she decided.

 

“Come find me later. I should be free this evening.” He turned and followed Thorin’s retreating back down the hall.

 

……

 

“Aw, darling,” Aliyah crooned when she laid eyes on Míyah, cheeks blotchy, still clutching at Meron’s neck as they entered the room. Meron surrendered the dwarfling to her aunt, who rubbed her back soothingly. “He’ll be back soon. Don’t cry now.”

 

Aliyah smiled encouragingly. “I know what’ll cheer you up. How about a cocoa?”

 

Míyah tried hard to keep the corners of her lips turned down, but there was no mistaking the way her eyes lit up.

 

Aliyah chuckled, lowering her charge to the ground. “Go find Frerin and Rili, they’ve missed you!”

 

Míyah ran off, considerably cheered, and Aliyah set about breaking up a huge piece of chocolate, setting the pieces in a pot over the stove. She turned to Meron. “Thank you for bringing her down. I don’t believe we’ve met?”

 

“I’m Meron,” she said quickly.

 

“I’m Aliyah. But you probably know that, of course, if you’re here. Where are you from?”

 

“The Iron Hills.”

 

“The same as myself.”

 

“As many of us are. So many of Durinsfolk went there after the Worm.”

 

Aliyah gazed at her for a few seconds. “I remember you,” she said finally. “You stuck up for me when we fought those slavers. I’m grateful.”

 

“I’d have been grateful if you’d joined our forces afterwards,” Meron relied lightly. “I know I covered for you then, but I meant it, you fought well.”

 

“Oh I couldn’t possibly,” Aliyah replied with a laugh. “Being the wife of the Heir of Erebor comes with enough drama don’t you?”

 

She poured hot milk into the pan of chocolate and stirred. “Your majesties, your chocolate awaits!”

 

The scampering of many little feet was heard before the room was flooded with three eager dwarflings. They were gone as quickly as they came, leaving a trail of warm scented chocolate in their wake.

 

“Watch you don’t spill it!” Aliyah called after them, shaking her head with a little smile at the responding chorus of “We _won’t_ , amad!”

 

“They better not,” she added to Meron, pouring out two more mugs. “We can have a treat too.”

 

“Thank you,” Meron said gratefully, accepting the mug held out to her and taking a sip. It was not a cold day, but the chocolate warmed her to the bone, and something unexpected tingled on her tongue.

 

“Did you put something else in this?”

 

“Yes. Just a pinch of spice. I hope you don’t mind?”

 

“It’s wonderful.” There was a minute of silence as the two dwarrowdams sipped. Aliyah was smiling at her, and Meron smiled back.

 

“Can you tell me what Míyah’s mother was like?”

 

Aliyah stilled. “Oh,” she uttered softly. “Well. She was my sister.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Meron backtracked hastily.

 

“Don’t be. How were you to know, I suppose.” Aliyah smiled, but a deep sadness had settled behind her green eyes. “I don’t mind talking about it. It reminds me that she’s still here.”

 

Meron didn’t know what that meant, but didn’t say anything.

 

“She was beautiful. And a good person. That’s her,” Aliya pointed to a small painting on the wall. The dam was young, younger than Meron, with a cascade of straight strawberry blonde hair. Everything about her spoke of a mellow, kind character.

 

“She’s beautiful,” Meron said truthfully.

 

“She is,” Aliyah agreed.

 

Meron looked into the living room at Míyah, charging around playing swords with her cousins. “She has her features.”

 

“But Kili’s personality and colours,” Aliyah said. “I was so happy for her when they met. They gave eachother so much joy.”

 

“He never talks about her.”

 

“To you? I’m not surprised.” Aliyah’s eyes settled again on the painting of her sister on the wall. “I always knew he wasn’t her One.”

 

“How?” Meron’s voice was a whisper.

 

“Safiyah met her One when they were both dwarflings. His name was Sighen. They way they got along was unnatural  - they were like two halves, they just _completed_ eachother.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“He died,” Aliyah said quietly. “In a lake. Drowned. Dwarrows were not made for the water. Safiyah was devastated. She couldn’t speak. It was months before she talked again.”

 

“Did she know?”

 

“She was so young. I’m not sure she really understood what it meant – but the rest of us all did. None of us had the heart to tell her what it was, that her soulmate was gone. Which was why I was so glad to see Kili in her life. He brought her so much happiness. But then again there was always the question… of where his One was.”

 

One look then at Aliyah’s face told Meron she knew. She and Kili thought they had been secretive, thought no one would notice, but anyone who knew them better could tell, would have known, perhaps even from the start.

 

“It’s like fate,” Meron choked at last. “I can’t seem to stop it.”

 

“Then why try?”

 

“I’m not trying to anymore.”

 

……

 

A few hours later, Meron found Dwalin where he told her he would be – in the armoury, where he preferred to work despite being offered an office.

 

He didn’t look surprised when Meron entered the room and shut the door.

 

“So you wanted to talk to me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is it about Kili?”

 

“No.” She tore her sleeves back and thrust her wrists towards him. He hissed, taking in the mangled, marked skin.

 

“What happened?”

 

Meron took a deep breath. “As a dwarfling, I was taken by slavers. Not unlike those we thwarted months ago; but I want them behind me and these scars. And I need your help.”

 

……

 

It was late. Kili was exhausted. It wasn’t a long journey to and from Laketown, but the week of arguing had left him drained. His heart rose as he entered the palace, glad to be home and with family again.

 

He’d thought the time away would have been good for him. He needed a break, to get out of the city. Now he was back, he would have to face Meron’s wedding – and after that, he resolved not to see her again. It would cause him pain, and he couldn’t bear to think of Míyah’s confusion and hurt when it happened, but he couldn’t stand to see _her_ , watch her stomach grow with offspring that was not his own, watch her throw away her life because she was too stubborn to accept the truth. Rejection didn’t sting, it burned like dragonfire, sinking in the pit of his stomach sickeningly in a way that he wondered if it would ever end.

 

He knew Míyah was staying with Aliyah and he’d already resolved to pick her up in the morning – it was late now and he didn’t want to wake her. He pushed open the door of his own chambers and froze.

 

The fire was lit and a figure rose the chair before the fire as he entered.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He was too tired, too sore to inject any kind of emotion into his voice.

 

Meron had been waiting a week for this moment, but she wasn’t prepared for the desperate surge of _need_ that coursed through her at the sight of Kili, weary, apathetic but _Kili._ How could she have doubted herself before, ignored it, it wasn’t natural to avoid it.

 

“I’ve come for you,” she replied.

 

“And Borek?”

 

Meron could have retched at the name, but more overwhelming was the desire for physical contact, to kiss him, to have every part of her body touching him in some way, feel his warmth.

 

“You were right. You were always right about him.” Her feet were carrying her forwards before she had given them permission to, she grabbed his face and pressed her mouth onto his, the sharp, ragged intake of breath on his part shocking her for a second before his hands were grabbing her waist pulling her closer.

 

It was relief, beautiful belief and realization – this was it. She was consumed by her desire to touch him, run her fingertips over every part of his body, relearn the pattern of his muscles, his hair. She tore her lips away form his and started with his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, forcing her fingers under the heavy jacket he wore to caress his shoulders while Kili, with a low noise between a sigh and a moan buried his face in her collarbone.

 

“DoesMíyah know you're here?" Kili gasped.

 

Meron chuckled. "Who do you think's been looking after her while you've been away?"

 

Kili pushed her to the bed and they sat down on it. “And you’re staying this time?” he asked softly. “For sure?”

 

Meron almost growled. She pushed him down on the bed and sat over him. She pulled back her sleeves, and Kili noticed for the first time the bandages wrapped around her wrists.

 

“Meron – what –“  Meron didn’t reply to his stuttered question but began unwrapping them. The ink artist had told her to leave them covered for at least a week, but this was too important.

 

“Can this convince you?” she whispered, discarding the bandages and holding out her fists to him. Covering her wrists, concealing her scars, swirling cuffs of black ink design. They extended to cover the back of her hands. She slowly turned her left hand to show her wrist where, over the veins that ran closest to her heart, was Kili’s unmistakable sigil.

 

The smarting of the pricking needles had been nothing compared to the enormous feeling of liberation, literally transforming the traces of pain that held her back, and turning them into the thing that made her strong. But suddenly, in the face of Kili’s silence she wasn’t sure about her grand gesture. She’d literally marked herself as his, and she had been sure she would be requited, but now she felt doubt; what if Kili didn’t want her to announce them this way, what if she’d been _wrong_ , tattoos were as permanent as scars… She waited with bated breath as Kili carefully took her hands in his own and studied them, not daring to touch in case the area was still sore.

 

“You’ve been talking to Dwalin,” he said softly. Meron’s lips quirked and she nodded.

 

“Marry me.”

 

The question was an awed whisper, not what she had expected but better, _better_. Her reply was thoughtless, ecstatic, tingles of joy coursing through her like adrenaline, from the top of her head to her quivering fingertips, mere skin and bone away from his heart.

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed, comments/kudos always welcome :)


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